


Temptation #1: The artist

by WoodsWitch



Series: Lust is Hell [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Artist Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), F/M, Guardian Aziraphale, M/M, Or Is he?, Seduction, Slut Shaming, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27331054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoodsWitch/pseuds/WoodsWitch
Summary: Part 2 of Lust is Hell, 2100 BC.In which Crawly first attempts to seduce a human for an assignment, and it doesn't exactly go to plan. Not to his plan, anyway. But who says wiles are only good for evil deeds?*TW: Includes an almost suicide attempt for an OC. But they get some ineffable assistance.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Lust is Hell [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995316
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Temptation #1: The artist

The demon Crawly was dozing in snake form, looped around the base of a tree in a temple garden1, when a familiar voice said: "You stood me up!"

As Crawly yawned and stretched, he shifted form. His mostly-human face frowned. "What are you talking about, angel?"

The angel was the picture of indignation. "A messenger brought me _this_ yesterday." Aziraphale thrust a scrap of papyrus into Crawly's hands. It wasn't the local material for such things or even the local language. But it was much better for a hurried note than pressing sticks into wet mud and waiting for it to dry. This particular hurried note said:

_Angel 2._

_Have you seen Gudea's bridge? Very impressive engineering. Will be there with tomorrow night, should you wish to have a look. I've got wine._

It was signed with a little drawing of a snake.

Aziraphale bristled. "Well? Are you going to pretend that's not yours? What kind of game are you playing? Are you trying to distract me from something?" His wings weren't out at the moment, but Crawly could just picture them arching and fluffing up like an angry cat.

"Easy, angel. Yeah, it's mine, but... Oh, I see the problem. I messed up this bit of the hieroglyphics. It should say "two nights hence", not "tomorrow night". He pointed at the offending bit of the message. "Sorry. You know I'm not as good as you with the words and the writing and whatnot."

Aziraphale relaxed, and sighed. "Well, it turned out to be lucky, I suppose."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. There was a human in great distress who needed my help."

~

_Three weeks earlier:_

It had seemed a simple, if somewhat odd, assignment at first.

"What do you want, Crawly?" Dagon had sighed when he had popped back down to hell to confirm.

"It's this assignment. You want me to make sure this specific human has sex?"

"That was the message they transmitted, isn't it?"

It was indeed. Right into the brain, which was unnecessarily invasive. But that didn't mean he understood it any better. "Yeah, but _why_? Humans have sex all the time. It's generally pretty useless regarding the whole gaining-souls thing, isn't it?"

His line manager fixed him with a fishy eye. "Haven't you learned yet not to ask so many questions? Just do it!"

The target, it seemed, was the high priestess of the sun god Utu. This presented something of a challenge, since the main building of that particular temple was one Crawly couldn't enter. Well, not with any dignity, anyway. Hopping around from foot to foot might have worked if he was trying to seduce a bird, but a human woman was likely just to laugh. And it probably _was_ going to have to be _him_. Word around the temple outskirts was that she had vowed never to have sex, and while there were plenty of potential partners of various genders working in the temple she showed no sign of breaking that vow. Crawly still wasn't sure _why_ hell was so keen on changing that, but if the Serpent of Eden couldn't manage it, no one could. Luckily, the temple seemed to have a garden that wasn't blessed, and the tall brick wall was no barrier to either his winged or scaled form.

~

The priestess Nanshe strolled through the temple grounds, as she did every evening. It was a pleasant oasis planted with date palms, figs, and almond trees, and dotted with cooling fountains. She had always wondered that few people sought it out at that hour, as it was the perfect place to meditate on the sunset. However, she appreciated the solitude, and so was not about to point that out to the other denizens of the temple.

Today, however, as she rounded a wild rose bush, she saw a stranger sitting on a bench under a gnarled olive tree, holding a dove. He wore sandals and a fringed black kilt, but otherwise his pale-skinned body was bare - more so than usual, given that his hair and beard were shaved. He was very tall and thin, but in a way that seemed elegant rather than scrawny, with high cheekbones and delicate long fingers that traced gently over the dove's feathers. Indeed, the only thing that might seem a flaw was the strip of black cloth tied over his eyes. As he released the dove and fumbled for something in a small pouch, Nanshe realized the man must be blind. He drew a lump of beeswax out of the pouch and warmed it in his hands. Then, as Nanshe watched, he began to shape it into the rough approximation of a bird. But he did not stop there. With a look of great concentration he drew out the wax further, shaping beak and feathers and eyes with the aid first of his fingernails and then a stylus. Finally, he held on his palm the best likeness of a dove Nanshe had ever seen.

She must have gasped, for the stranger turned his head toward her. "Hello?"

"Oh! Excuse me. I...that's beautiful," Nanshe managed to say.

The artist grinned. "Thank you, Lady. You find it true to life?"

"It looks as if it might fly away! How did you do that?" she asked, stepping in to take a closer look at the little bird figure. "And why in wax?"

The man shrugged and made a noise that seemed to have too many consonants. "You'd think it would be a handicap not to see the subject, right? Turns out, my fingers 'remember' what they have touched, and that's much better for sculpture. I _could_ use clay, but that is messy and dries out quickly. But the wax can be used to cast the figure in bronze when I'm done with it. Would you like to hold it?"

Nanshe reached out her hand for the wax bird, and as the artist's dexterous fingers brushed hers she felt an involuntary blush spread up the back of her neck.

Nanshe ran into the mysterious artist, who said he had been commissioned to make small votive statues for temple worshipers, several times over the next ten days. The second time he was sculpting a perfect pomegranate, the third a coiled serpent. The fourth he simply sat on the bench, chin sunk despondently in his hands.

"What's wrong, Garash?" she asked.

The artist groaned. "Hullo, Lady Nanshe. I've been commissioned to do a statue of the Lady Sherida3 for the Great Temple. But I don't think it's going so well." He waved a hand at a lump of wax that sat on the bench.

Nanshe looked closely at it. It seemed to be a head, but it was somewhat lopsided and the eyes and mouth were far too large. "Hmm. Do you have a model?"

The artist shook his head. "That's the problem, really. I can't seem to do it from memory, and trying to dream up a goddess...well, that only makes it worse."

"Well, I can't say I have the face of a goddess, but if it would help..." Nanshe was surprised to find herself blushing again. "If it would help, you could use mine. As, as a base, you know?"

"Oh! Really?"

Nanshe moved the wax head out of the way, and sat down on the bench next to him. "Of course," she said, placing his right hand on her cheek.

The artist mirrored it with his left, then began to trace his fingers lightly over her hair and face. Perhaps it was because no one but the serving women who braided her hair had touched her since she took her vow, but she shivered as they traced her eyebrows and the bridge of her nose. She almost thought she might faint when his thumb brushed back and forth over her lips and he said with quiet mischief: "Lady Nanshe, you do your face wrong. Are you sure you are not a goddess in disguise?"

When he lifted his hands away to take up the wax she felt strangely bereft, but soon became fascinated watching those long fingers at work. In fact, Nanshe became so absorbed in watching the sculpture take shape that she hardly realized that she was leaning in close over his shoulder until she took in a particularly sharp breath and realized that he smelled intoxicatingly like spice and smoke.

The artist held up his handiwork. "There, now. What do you think?"

Mirrors had not been invented yet, but the proportions of the wax face were pleasing, and Nanshe could tell that he had at least captured her short nose and strong brow, and the loops of braids that hung over her ears. "That's amazing! I'm sure the high priest will be very pleased!"

The artist grinned at her. "I hope so. But really - if it pleases you, that's the better prize."

Nanshe was once again grateful that he couldn't see her blush.

She ran into the artist again a few days later, and inquired how his commission was going.

Garash's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Well, the high priest was very pleased with Sherida's face. But now..."

 _Ah._ "Now he'll be expecting a body to match?"

The artist nodded. "Yeah. Of course, I couldn't ask..."

Nanshe stepped forward, and laid a finger against his lips. Silently, she dropped her mantle and placed the artist's delicate hands on her bare shoulders.

He sucked in a surprised breath. "Lady, are you sure...?"

She undid the single shoulder strap of her dress, letting the red leaf-patterned skirt fall and pool around her ankles.

Nanshe woke to the sound of birdsong, and blinked in the dawn light. She was lying on the ground in the garden. The faint prickle of her woolen mantle on her otherwise bare skin brought to mind the gentle touch of the artist's hands, as they traced across every inch of her body. That touch had seemed to fill her veins with fire. She had leaned in and kissed him, and then... _Oh. Oh, no._

Nanshe sat up suddenly, clutching her mantle close around her nakedness. _No, no, no. What did I do?_ Her eyes fell on her dress and she grabbed it hurriedly. But there was no artist to be seen.

As she scrambled to dress herself, Nanshe suddenly felt that she was being watched. She turned slowly. An old crone, holding a rake, was watching her with cold, scornful black eyes.

"Who are you?" Nanshe demanded, in an attempt at her usual dignity, but she knew her voice sounded shaky.

"Shameful," the old woman sniffed.

"Excuse me?" A cold weight settled in Nanshe's stomach.

"No respect, you young people. No respect for yourself, or your gods. Or your promises. Shameful."

~

Two days later, Crawly was strolling through the market when he sensed another demonic presence behind him. He turned slowly. "Lord Belial. What are you doing here?"

The Prince of Hell grinned at him, revealing a glint of white fang. "Just following up on your latest case, Serpent."

"Why? I did the job, sent in my report..."

"Indeed you did. And very fine work it was. Just adding some finishing touches."

Crawly frowned in confusion. "Pretty sure all the necessary touching got done."

Belial's black eyes gleamed. " _That_ sort, yes. A borrowed voice or two, a whisper through her window at night, was really all that was needed."

He chuckled. It was the coldest sound you'd ever pray not to hear, and it sent a chill down Crawly's spine. While he'd felt mildly guilty about the extent of his deception, he'd let the human take the lead, and she'd seemed to enjoy herself. No doubt she'd been hurt when he vanished without saying goodbye, but humans mostly seemed to take such disappointments in stride so he hadn't worried about it too much. But Belials' specialty was black despair. What had he been whispering to Nanshe? And what had _he_ missed?

Crawly slithered back into the temple garden at sunset, but Nanshe was not there. Now, where might she be? Looking around, Crawly noted a tree whose branches hang close to a second-story window. Belial had said something about whispering through windows, and was know to take on the form of an owl to do so. Perhaps Nanshe's chambers were up there.

In serpent form, it was the work of a moment to scale the tree and dangle himself down to peer in the window. The priestess was inside, staring at the wall. She looked as if she had been crying, and Crawly could smell the despair on her. But why? Crawly flickered his tongue uncertainly. He didn't like dipping into humans' thoughts. It seemed unsporting. But he _could_ if he tried. He did so now.

He was hit first with a wave of self-loathing. Then it resolved itself into a whirl of images, though which were memories, which merely thoughts, was hard to tell. An old woman looking at Nanshe with Belial's cold eyes, telling her she was shameful. Tittering novices. _They know. Surely they know_. The stern face of Utu's golden statue in the Great Temple. Around these images a swirl of words _: Wanton. Shameless. Oathbreaker._ And then the image of dark waters, and a sense of relief...

Crawly pulled back his mind with a hiss. _No, no, no. This was_ not _what I wanted!_ But how to stop her from... _Ah_.

He blinked himself back to another garden and snapped up a pen and a piece of papyrus. Hastily, he scrawled out a message, and strode off to find one of his priests.

"You there!" he cried out, spotting one. He used no glamour to cover his eyes when in his own temple, and let his dark wings unfurl for good measure.

" _Ningishzida!_ " The man threw himself into a crouching bow.

"Yes, yes. Get up! I have an errand for you." The human scrambled to his feet, and Crawly shoved a small papyrus scroll into his hand. "Get this to the foreign priest-physician at the temple of Enlil, Azirafu. Short, solid-looking fellow, silver hair. Make sure you give this only to him. Understand?"

The human nodded dumbly.

"Good. Off you go then! Chop chop!"

He lurked in the shadow of a building near Gudeas bridge. It would be this evening. Of that Crawly was sure. And yes - there she was, trailing her dark cloud of hopeless shame.

"Come on, angel. Where are you?" Crawly hissed.

He wondered how much trouble he would be in if he went up and yanked her off that bridge himself. Probably a lot, especially if she recognized him. Ah! There was the angel's ethereal signature, approaching the foot of the bridge. Crawly slunk back into the shadows.

~

When Aziraphale reached the bridge he was puzzled to see no demon. He could vaguely sense Crawly's presence in the neighborhood, but he wasn't actually _here_. However, his annoyance took a back seat for a while when he noticed the woman standing on the edge of the bridge.

"I say! That hardly looks safe, my dear."

Then he sniffed, and concentrated. _Oh, dear._ Both angels and demons can sense pain and despair - though for opposite reasons - and the woman was radiating both in palpable waves.

Aziraphale stepped closer, projecting all the calm he could. "Forgive me, dear girl, but you seem distressed. What seems to be the trouble?"

There were tears running down the woman's face. "I...I disgraced myself before my Lord. I broke my most sacred oath."

"Goodness, that does sound serious. But it surely isn't as bad as you think."

"It is!"

"Hmm. What's your name, my dear?"

"N...Nanshe."

Aziraphale nodded and smiled. "That's a very nice name. Well, Nanshe. What is this sacred oath that you broke?"

"I...I vowed to preserve my virginity my whole life long, and to serve only my Lord Utu. And for twelve years, I did. But then...there was this man. I only ever saw him in the garden of the temple. He was so beautiful, and so gentle. It was like a dream. But then, then he went away, and I saw what I had done, and I was so ashamed. I don't deserve to live under His bright rays."

During the course of this speech, Aziraphale had managed to reach Nanshe's hand, and to guide her at least one step away from the edge. "Well, think about it like this, my dear," he said quietly. "You believe your Lord Utu is married, correct? So do you think he or Lady Sherida are virgins?"

"I...It does seem unlikely," Nanshe conceded.

"What about his sister, Lady Innana?"

Nanshe actually smiled. "Oh, certainly not."

"So then. Why is it so important for you?"

The woman's face took on that anguished look again. "Because I _promised_."

Aziraphale nodded. "So you did. But don't you say Utu is merciful and just?"

"Of course!"

"Then don't you think he would prefer that you ask his forgiveness, and live to serve him?" the angel suggested gently.

"I...perhaps. But how can I _know_?" Nanshe wailed.

Aziraphale sighed. "All right. Since you need proof I know what I'm talking about..."

He unfurled his cloud-white wings, and let his celestial glow expand outward so that it was just visible to the human eye.

Nanshe gasped, and fell to her knees. "My Lord!"

"Peace, daughter," Aziraphale said, raising her up again. But she likely needed something more than even the word of a glowing messenger to believe in forgiveness. "Cut off your braid and cast it into the river, in token of your repentance. Then return to the city and rejoice once more in your Lord's service."

Nanshe pulled a ceremonial knife from her belt, and cut off her hair without hesitation. As the braid splashed into the dark water, she turned back to Aziraphale. "That's all, then? I am forgiven?"

The angel winched in his wings, and his glow faded. "Of course, my dear. Try not to make any promises you can't keep; But, even if you do, remember that you are more valuable than any mere words."

~

Aziraphale recounted this story in simplified terms to the demon lounging against the sacred tree.

"Huh. Well, I suppose it was lucky for her I screwed up my invitation, then, wasn't it?"

"Indeed." The angel looked at the demon's studiously innocent face keenly. "One might almost think it wasn't an accident."

Crawly shrugged. "Well, y'know. Ineffable, I suppose. Since you're here, though...Did you still want to take a stroll down to that bridge?"

"I've seen it, thank you. But you said you had wine?"

Crawly grinned, and pulled a jug out of a hollow in the tree. "Straight from Egypt. And a damn sight better than the swill they serve around here."

Aziraphale took a sip, and his eyes twinkled. "Very nice. Although I do think you are being unfair to the local beer brewers."

Crawly snorted. "Of course _you_ would like it. You like eating, and it's basically liquid bread. Not really my thing."

It was the start of a very pleasant afternoon.

~

The staff meeting in hell later that month was not as pleasant. But Crawly was holding his own. At least no one had tried to bite him so far.

He shrugged. "Look, I did my job. If an angel happened to interfere afterward, that's not my problem." _Should I try...? Yeah. Why not?_ "However, it might have been a good thing they did."

" _What?_ " Duke Hastur looked livid at the very suggestion, and Prince Belial was silently glowering.

Crawly tried to stay cool under the hostile stares from the other demons. "Lord Dagon. If Nanshe had died that night, would we have been able to claim her soul?"

The fishy demon snapped up a file and skimmed through it. "Hmm. Debatable, actually. Probably not. Oath-breaking of the sort she did...she thought it was really bad and did it anyway, but Upstairs doesn't put much weight on the _content_ of that vow. Everything else on her record is pretty minor."

"What about destroying herself in despair?" Prince Belial asked.

Dagon shrugged. "Not considered a sin in the local culture, so it doesn't even get breaking-their-own-rules points. Sorry."

Crawly nodded. "See? If the angel hadn't intervened, all my effort - ha! - would probably have been wasted. As it is, we still have a chance."

"You make good pointzz," Prince Beelzebub noted. "Dagon, take a memo: In future, all individual temptation azzzignments are to be accompanied by a psychological workup of the target and their current salvation-damnation status. After all, itzz no good shooting ourselvezzz in the foot, is it?"

Prince Belial glared at him. "Your work is _already_ wasted. She repented and was forgiven. And thanks to that she was able to broker peace between Lagash and the Gutians."

Crawly made an exasperated gesture. "Well, if _that_ was the main target, you might have _told_ me! I'm sure we could have come up with something better than: 'Bang the ambassador, hope they feel guilty enough to off themselves - forfeiting their soul to the other side, remember - and hope the king doesn't have _anyone else_ to send to the very important diplomatic meeting.'"

"Is that so?" Belial snarled. "What would you have done then, clever-fangs?"

"Well, try to mess with the negotiators _at the meeting_ , for one. I mean, I couldn't promise it would work - humans are funny things, and there's always the possibility that heaven would have _their_ agent there as well. But I'm pretty good at making people irritable and short-tempered, if I do say so myself."

"Always think you're so smart, don't you?" Hastur grumbled. "Satan's pet."

"And how are you feeling right now, Lord Hastur? Prince Belial?" Crawly asked innocently. The senior demon's didn't say anything, but the glares that said they were wondering what their subordinate's entrails might taste like spoke for themselves. Crawly grinned. "I rest my case."

Prince Beelzebub sighed. "I'm bored of thizz. You're dismizzed, Serpent. Get back up there..."

"...and make some trouble?" Crawly finished. "Yep. On it."

1\. The usual consecrated ground problems in this case being eliminated because the temple was dedicated to was _him_ , in the form of Ningishzida: "Lord/Lady of the Good Tree", supposed deity of vegetation and the underworld.Back

2\. Or, rather, "pictogram indicating messenger of the gods"Back

3\. The sun god's wife.Back

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley/Crawly might not be very good at being actually evil, but he is kind of a genius at manipulating things so he doesn't have to be! And I figured that - since artists have probably been sexy since the dawn of time - he might as well put his star-shaper talents to work here as well. Crowley's alias "Garash" is a Sumerian name with a variety of interpretations including "catastrophe" and "choice", which seemed appropriate.  
> The setting is Mesopotamia during early bronze age, in the city of Lagash during the reign of king Gudea, who I named the bridge after. Ningishzida is a real ambiguously-gendered Sumerian snake deity, whose spouse Azimua is a healer. Enlil was the chief god of Sumer, a storm god who seems to be mythologically related to El, who in turn became the God of the bible, which is why I put Aziraphale at that temple. Utu is the god of the sun, justice, morality, and truth. While I haven't seen any evidence of priestly virginity vows from this time period, Utu during the Babylonian period (1830-1531 BC) was associated with an order of cloistered women. Which is a bit odd, considering both his wife and sister are sex and fertility goddesses: Innana, through various mythological mutations, is the forerunner of Aphrodite. Nanshe is the name of a goddess from Lagash associated with divination, assisting the poor, and accurate weights and measures. Lagash wasn't a huge city and so probably wouldn't have had that many major temples at once, but hey: artistic license.


End file.
